


Desengaño

by solitariusvirtus, tenten_d



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Baroque Themes, Courtly Love, F/M, Forced Marriage, Starcrossed Lovers, Teatrum Mundi, The World is a Stage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 04:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2718218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenten_d/pseuds/tenten_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is falling apart, crumbling to dust. But somehow they have to survive.</p><p>And in surviving they go on to play their parts, hoping for a reward at the end of the road.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desengaño

**Author's Note:**

> The poem used is "Gloss" by Mihai Eminescu. I'll post a traslation in the end notes.

Vreme trece, vreme vine,  
Toate-s vechi şi nouă toate;  
Ce e rău şi ce e bine  
Tu te-ntreabă şi socoate;  
Nu spera şi nu ai teamă,  
Ce e val, ca valul trece;  
De te-ndeamnă, de te cheamă'  
Tu rămîi la toate rece.

Multe trec pe dinainte,  
În auz ne sună multe,  
Cine ţine toate minte  
Şi ar sta să le asculte?...  
Tu aşează-te deoparte,  
Regăsindu-te pe tine,  
Cînd cu zgomote deşarte  
Vreme trece, vreme vine.

(Mihai Eminescu – Glossa)

* * *

i.

The bride is beautiful. Rhaegar drinks deep from his cup and the Arbor wine tastes like sorrow on his tongue. Elia rests cheerfully by his side, a smile on her face, unknowing as she is of his mind. Rhaegar cannot bear to look at her. He cannot witness her happiness. So he shies away from her touch, a subtle movement of his body drawing away from her. He is hurt and her presence is vexing though she does no more but smile and laugh.

From the table of the happy couple a pair of grey eyes glances at him with unspoken grief. It is an instance, nothing more.

ii.

_They are lost in the snow, a pair of lovers, happy and alive, dragging air in greedily. Rhaegar kisses her chilled lips, but breaks away as he feels cold snow sliding under his collar. With a playful growl he pulls Lyanna's hand away. "You have already won this battle."_

_"A small victory," she says, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "I have no spoils to show for it."_

_"Is my heart not enough?" The mist of the breath mingles together._

_Her gaze lowers, one hand pressing gently over his wildly beating heart. "If only I could hold on forever."_

_"This gift I shall never take back." He will rue this promise._

iii.

He cannot sleep. The demons are upon him. Rhaegar stands up from his bed in despair. His wife lays sleeping, her form turned towards the wall. Something like disgust churns inside of him. Not directed towards Elia, or not fully anyway.

The disgust is aimed at his own weakness. Elia is only guilty of unknowingly stepping over his heart. But the fault is not hers. She doesn't know. She cannot read him. Perhaps it is for the best.

Rhaegar approaches the window and looks outside. The moon is hidden behind a mourning shroud of clouds. How fitting. A bitter smile blooms on his lips and he smothers the pained howl of loss. He is breaking and nothing will put his back together.

iv.

_Her hand is warm as she slides it against his naked back. Lyanna laughs lightly when he bites gently into the skin of her neck. His mouth is filled by her taste. She cradles him lovingly, a half-promise lingering on her lips. Rhaegar longs to hear the words. But at the same time he cannot._

_If she speaks that truth which they both carry like a brand on their heart, they will be lost. And the fall will be the sweetest of all. "Hold still," he speaks against her soft, yielding skin. "A few moments longer."_

_And then laughter is no longer to be heard._

v.

It is finally morning. Rhaegar walks in the gardens, absently taking in the beauty which nature has crafted. His eyes do not see though. They are blind to all delight. The cold walls have started to grow and ice piles inside of him. He is supposed to be a creature of fire. But nay, his veins fill with frost.

A sharp intake of breath makes his twist his head. And there she is. The happy bride.

They gaze at one another. Her lips tremble, as if to speak. Yet no words come. She rushes forward with a muted cry, and Rhaegar finds that he cannot deny her the safety of his arms. Instinctively, he gathers her to his chest.

vi.

_"You do not know," she begins, her words a mere whisper. "You cannot know how I wish it were different." This regret is not brought between them often. It is just the way things are. He does hear the words that do not leave her lips. They are written in her eyes._

_Rhaegar ignores the stab of pain that pierces him. "My lady." Theirs is a sad story, because despite everything, neither of them can allow free reign to their heart. "We have only this."_

_"And I cherish it," she assures him. "Oh, do not listen to me. It is this weather, it leaves me in a pensive mood."_

_"Shall I distract you?" She smiles at his question and nods empathically._

vii.

After this he will no longer be able to touch her. They are a mass of tangles limbs and heavy breathing. This is desperation. This is grief of the highest degree. And it is acceptance. They have lost the fight. Any good warrior can recognise defeat. Yet this one rattles the once comfortable bars of his cage.

For a brief moment he wants to hate her. He wants to hate this woman in his arms. He wants his heart back. But Lyanna does not return it. Instead she offers him her own. "They cannot know," she says after.

"Nay, they cannot," he agrees. His lips sting from where she bit him and his tongue swipes over the wound.

viii.

_The harp no longer pleases him. Rhaegar has found another instrument to play. And the harmony of the sounds produced leaves him breathless. There is a rush of joy, unbound and overwhelming. He lives for this moment of passion when the world is reduced to four walls and the song of his nightingale._

_He does not think about the morrow, about the cold life that awaits him in the South. He has found the warmest fire in the North. Lyanna hums, threading her fingers through his hair, brushing it. She goes on to tell him about some incident with her brother._

_They laugh together._

ix.

When he leaves, Elia on his arm, Rhaegar has to force himself to pretend his usual calmness. Elia is smiling, offering some last encouraging words to Lady Baratheon. Lyanna looks like she is waiting to face her executioner. And perhaps she is. Hers will be a slow death though, a long torture.

And Rhaegar promises himself that somehow he will know the exact moment when she no longer breaths. He will follow her, of course. They will meet again. And when they do there will be no tearing them apart.

But for now, they must part and confront the waves of life separately. Lyanna gives him one last promise, her eyes on his, and Rhaegar nods once. The vague gesture is clearly understood.

He must play his part and wait the fall of the curtain.

x.

_The first time and last time they confess to each other, they are all shaky limbs and slightly damp skin. It is the beginning of the end, of course. But, this being the end of the world surely they are permitted this much._

_"Never forget that I love you, I beg only this," Lyanna says, her lips brushing over his heart. "Wherever I am and whomever I am with, it is you that I love."_

_His heart squeezes painfully at her admission. "If there was ever a moment's doubt that I love you, do dispel it. I love you more than words can say."_

_The world is falling apart, crumbling to dust. But somehow they have to survive._

* * *

Nici încline a ei limbă  
Recea cumpăn-a gîndirii  
Înspre clipa ce se schimbă  
Pentru masca fericirii,  
Ce din moartea ei se naşte  
Şi o clipa ţine poate;  
Pentru cine o cunoaşte  
Toate-s vechi şi nouă toate.

Privitor ca la teatru  
Tu în lume să te-nchipui;  
Joace unul şi pe patru,  
Totuşi tu ghici-vei chipu-i,  
Şi de plînge, de se ceartă,  
Tu în colt petreci în tine  
Si-nţelegi din a lor artă  
Ce e rău şi ce e bine.

(Mihai Eminescu – Glossa)

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Translation (by Adrian G. Sahlean)
> 
> Time goes by, time comes along,  
> All is old and all is new;  
> What is right and what is wrong,  
> You must think and ask of you;  
> Have no hope and have no fear,  
> Waves that rise can never hold;  
> If they urge or if they cheer,  
> You remain aloof and cold.
> 
> To our sight a lot will glisten,  
> Many sounds will reach our ear;  
> Who could take the time to listen  
> And remember all we hear?  
> Keep aside from all that patter,  
> Seek yourself, far from the throng  
> When with loud and idle clatter  
> Time goes by, time comes along.
> 
> Nor forget the tongue of reason  
> Or its even scales depress  
> When the moment, changing season,  
> Wears the mask of happiness -  
> It is born of reason's slumber  
> And may last a wink as true:  
> For the one who knows its number  
> All is old and all is new.
> 
> Be as to a play, spectator,  
> As the world unfolds before:  
> You will know the heart of matter  
> Should they act two parts or four;  
> When they cry or tear asunder  
> From your seat enjoy along  
> And you'll learn from art to wonder  
> What is right and what is wrong. [...]


End file.
